Something in Red
by bbucking
Summary: Santana wants Brittany to notice her as more than just a friend. Brittana life in 5 verses.
1. Something in Red

**A/N-** So I couldn't get this song stuck out of my head and for some reason it just reminds me of Brittana thus voila!

**Disclaimer-** I don't own the characters just their thoughts and actions. Credit to Lorrie Morgan for "Something in Red"

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><p><em>I'm looking for something in red<br>__Something that's shocking to turn someone's head  
><em>_Strapless and sequined and cut down to there  
><em>_Stockings and garters and lace underwear  
><em>_The guaranteed number to knock a girl dead  
><em>_I'm looking for something in red_

We had been best friends from the day that we met. The kind of friends where you smile at each other, no words or introductions are needed, you just know that this person is going to be an important in your life. That's how it was for us.

I didn't even realize anything had changed until we entered high school as freshmen. We were so close, always touching each other whether it be through linked pinkies or interlocked arms, but I figured that's what everyone did with their best friend. I always felt so drawn to her, ever since the first time I locked eyes with her across the classroom. Who wouldn't want to always be around the only person that really understands you?

We were each other's first kiss. It really wasn't a big deal, mostly just done out of curiosity. We both wanted to know what it would feel like and who better to share that experience with than the person you trust the most. It was barely more than the softest brush of her lips against mine, but it sent a shiver down my back and I knew. I didn't need to kiss anyone else because I would never want to taste anyone's lips besides hers. She opened her eyes revealing that liquid blue I could drown in, then let out a soft giggle before curling up against my side and returning her attention to the movie we had been watching in her room. No amount of acetone could have wiped the smile off my face that night.

After our first kiss came many more. Practice is what we called it. So we would be prepared for when we got boyfriends. I never told her that I didn't want a boyfriend, why would I want to kiss a boy when I could kiss her? I didn't want to freak her out by telling her that so I took what I was given and never complained when practicing became a daily ritual for us. By the time sophomore year rolled around, I'd say we both had become pros. We had even progressed from kissing to some touching and looking, but never more than that and always just for practice. But after a year of practicing I wanted to play the real game.

We lived in Lima, Ohio so taking a girl out on a formal date just wasn't an option. I'd seen how people treated Kurt over the years and there was no way I would put her through that. But I had to take action to get her attention, to show her that whatever it was we were doing meant something to me. I wasn't sure what exactly it meant, but I knew it more than just experimental curiosity. I counted down the hours until we were alone in one of our rooms and I could taste her skin on my lips. Maybe whatever these feelings were couldn't be defined, not that I wanted them to, but I couldn't keep pretending that they weren't there and I honestly didn't want to either. She had already asked me to go to Homecoming with her (as friends of course) this way we could dance together and make all the boys crazy. Dancing was her thing and I never passed up an opportunity to spend time with her, so a yes escaped my mouth before she had even finished asking the question. I knew this would be my best chance to drop the "as friends" part of the date and hopefully open her eyes.

She was a little bummed at first when I told her I wasn't going dress shopping with her. However when I explained I wanted her to be surprised when she first saw me, her cute pout turned into the megawatt smile that I'd come to love. Then she asked what color I was wearing so she could dress accordingly and I told her red.

Red had always looked good on my dark Hispanic skin tone. Everyone knows that red is the most striking color and if I was really wanted to turn her head, I would have to stick to my power color. I took my time getting ready that night making sure everything was perfect; I wanted to make it a night she would never forget. The dress was simple yet sexy, strapless to show off a chest God had granted to give me earlier than some of the other girls in our grade. There was a dense amount sequins at the top that dispersed as they traveled down the dress. It stopped a few inches below my knees showing off a decent amount of leg, and a slit in the side so I'd have room to dance. On my way out of my room I slipped on our best friends bracelet we had gotten in middle school, hoping it would bring me good luck.

I decided to meet her at the school, hoping my slightly late entrance would gain a reaction from her. As I pulled into the parking lot, I picked her out of the crowd in an instant. Her light blonde hair had soft curls in it, I had always loved it when she curled her hair, and she looked stunning in a dark silver dress with a red sash around the waist. It took all my effort to stop staring at her and actually get out of the car before our friends went inside leaving her all alone. I began an agonizingly slow walk towards the group of students keeping her in my sights, but never fully looking at her so we wouldn't accidently make eye contact. When I was half way across the parking lot she diverted her attention away from our friends and scanned the area, presumably for me. I saw her head turn my direction then seemingly through me then continuing on before her neck suddenly stopped. I couldn't help but to smirk as she whipped her head back to where I was walking, now only 20 or so yards away from her, and her mouth was slightly agape. Finally I let myself look into her eyes. They were as soft as they were after that first kiss and I knew that red dress got her attention. When I reached her, she closed her jaw and shock turned to joy as she bared all teeth in her perfect smile. She took my hand in hers and led me into the dance.

We may have made all the boys crazy that night, but we never danced with a single one of them. I took her back to my house afterwards- my parents were gone for the weekend and I had time to set up my room. I didn't have a shit ton of candles or anything cheesy like that, but I did splurge and buy some Egyptian cotton sheets that I had been saving up my allowance for the past month.

She had her mouth attached to mine before we even fully made it into my room and within minutes my dress and lace underwear were scattered on the floor, her clothes mixed in as well. We took time to look at each other, admire and appreciate the other person's body, well at least that's what I did, she just looked like she wanted to ravish me (not that I'm complaining). By the time we finally made it to the bed, we were both breathing heavy, her pupils were dark with lust and I imagine mine were probably the same. But I didn't want to do anything if she wasn't ready for it. As I inched my hand lower down her abdomen, I looked her straight in the eye silently asking if it was okay. She nodded before adding the four words that had been breaking my heart.

"It's just practice right?" My hand froze just below her navel. She had to know how I felt by now; the dress, the dancing, the desperate kissing. I wanted it, no I wanted her. But could I still have her if it wasn't practice? I could easily lie, like I had been ever since the first kiss, but I didn't want her first time to be a lie. It should be perfect and special and real. So I took a deep breath and replied.

"No not practice. Not anymore." I bit my lip as I tried to read her facial expressions. Her brow furrowed and she opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it just as suddenly. She gazed down at my lips before returning it to my eyes and gave a soft smile.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah." She put her hand on mine and guided it the rest of the way to its destination. It was sloppy and at times awkward, but after we had come down from our highs and she cuddled into my side like she always did, I knew that all of its imperfections is what really made it perfect.

I stroked her hair as her breathing began to slow down against my neck. Leaning just slightly so my mouth was next to her ear I whispered the words without even realizing where they came from but knowing they were without a doubt true.

"I love you Brittany."

She pulled me tighter towards her with the one arm she had wrapped around the waist. There was a ding of metal as her bracelet connected with mine due to the proximity of our hands and I immediately intertwined our fingers.

"I know."

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><p><strong>End of Verse 1<strong>


	2. Something in Green

**Disclaimer-** I don't own the characters just their thoughts and actions. Credit to Lorrie Morgan for "Something in Red"

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><p><em>I'm looking for something in green<br>__Something to out do an ex-high school queen  
><em>_Jealousy comes in the color of jade  
><em>_Do you have some pumps and a purse in this shade  
><em>_With a perfume that whispers "Please come back to me"  
><em>_I'm looking for something in green_

I screwed it up. Big time. You know the saying "It's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all?" Yeah well it's full of shit. I would have preferred to have loved and be loved back with no losing involved, but of course once I finally have something perfect in my life, I had to get in my own way and fuck it up.

After only a year of being together, we broke it off. Well more like I pushed her away until she finally lost the strength to keep fighting back, so with a tear stained face she called it quits and ran away from my house without looking back. I loved her and I knew she loved me back. I could tell by the way she looked at me after we slept together or how she'd calm me with a gentle touch to my wrist before I went ape shit during glee. All of her actions basically screamed her love for me and yet still it wasn't enough. I was young and I wanted solid proof. I wanted to hear those three words come from her mouth directed at me.

I should have been more patient, given her time to tell me in her own way. But with each passing month as I wore my heart on my sleeve and she never admitted aloud what I assumed she felt inside, I began to doubt myself. How hard was it to tell someone you love them? She told her parents every night before bed. She cooed her love for Lord Tubbington all the time. She even told Rachel freaking Berry once that she loved her when the hobbit had given up a Ke$ha solo for her. And yet she couldn't manage to tell me, her semi-secret girlfriend.

We didn't go public with our relationship, neither of us wanted that, but we never exactly toned down our handholding in the hallways. People would think what they wanted and assume things no matter what we did, so there was no point worrying over it. Sometimes I wondered if maybe she wanted to tell other people about us, but I can't understand why she wouldn't have told me if that was the case. Besides what does having other people know have anything to do with the fact that I proclaimed my love for her and never once heard it back?

Once the honeymoon period ended and the months of our relationship began to drag on, my insecurities grew causing my temper to flare. I will be the first to admit that I'm a bitch, but I was never one to her, until the day she broke up with me.

I had closed myself off to her for the previous month, waiting for her to confess her love and wondering why she hadn't. I had been blinded by my self-perseverance, too focused on words instead of actions. While it was hurting me to keep her at a distance, it was even more painful for her because she didn't know why. And I never even saw the pain I inflicted on her until after it was too late. There was some yelling (mostly me) and crying (mostly her), and she asked me what happened, why I wouldn't talk to her anymore. I wanted to tell the truth; tell her I was scared she didn't love me back, but I didn't think I could handle what my confused mind had believed would undoubtedly be rejection coming from her mouth after that exclamation.

So I did what I did best after that first kiss- lied. I told her I wasn't in love with her anymore. If she didn't love me then I wasn't going to love her. She called me out as a liar, but I pressed on insisting it wouldn't work because I no longer had feelings for her. She continued to disagree with me until I finally snapped, yelling in her face asking why she was being so stupid. I called hundreds of other kids and adults that but never her; I knew how she felt about that word. Tears were pouring down her cheeks as she tried to shake the shock off her face. I heard her say we were done, but it wasn't until I heard the front door slam and saw her body running down the driveway that it sunk in what I had done. There is no day I regret more than the one that I pushed her out of my life.

My plan of not loving her was an epic fail, surprise surprise. Apparently you can't just force yourself to fall out of love, especially when the feelings never went away in the first place. I thought fooling around with other people would help, but no one smelled or tasted or kissed like she did. None of my random hook ups meant anything to me because they weren't her, I didn't love them and it only left me feeling more alone. It took me two months to realize I had nothing without her, I was nothing without her. During Christmas break of my junior year I made a plan, a plan to win her back.

Of course during my two months of rebounding with different guys and girls, she had kept herself entertained with someone else. His name was Artie, a super-nerd-wanna-be-black-rapper-in-a-wheelchair that was in glee with us. I guess they were pretty serious because they got together a couple weeks after we broke up in October and were still together by the time the new year rolled around when I wanted to put my plan into action. Though the boyfriend would definitely complicate things a little bit, I wasn't too worried about my chances against him.

Before I could get her back in my arms, I needed to rebuild our friendship, after all that is what our relationship was built on in the first place. We weren't nearly as close as we had been our first two years of high school, but we were still cordial. The first step on the road to redemption was apologizing, which had never been an easy thing for me. But like everything else in my life, she made it simple. I told her I was sorry for calling her stupid and that I missed hanging out with her and being friends. It was the least agonizing apology I had ever given probably because it was the only true one that's ever come from my mouth. She responded with no words, just a small nod then linked our pinkies together as we walked to glee. I noticed her bracelet as it clinked next to mine; I never had the heart to take it off and I assumed she just forgot hers was always there.

Falling back into a friendship with her was easy; being friends was always simple because it didn't involve feelings. Feelings involved talking and talking involved being honest, and that just wasn't my strong suit. I had tried that once and it obviously didn't work out so well. But she was big on the whole honesty thing and trusting people, so it didn't surprise me that I was so quickly forgiven and back in step with my best friend.

The only problem with being the best friend (besides the part where I wished best was replaced with girl) was that we shared everything. And by everything I mean all the intricate details of her relationship with McCripple Pants that I just wasn't keen on listening to. There was no way in hell the guy was better in bed than I was, and yet she sang his praise to no end. He was there for her not just in a physical way, though I usually tuned that part out, but also emotionally as they talked about their issues and aspirations. It would have been almost sickeningly cute, if it weren't for the fact she was falling for the wrong person which just made me plain sick.

For the next few months, I had to stand idle by as I watched their relationship grow and flourish. Each song he sang to her, each time she pushed him down the hall in his chair, each time they'd share a chaste kiss after a performance, I felt my stomach tie in knots. I tried to make myself believe that I was just disgusted by the sight of them; she could easily have gotten with someone much better looking. But after spending so much time with her I was trying to become a more honest and open person and that included being truthful to myself. I was jealous. I was jealous of a boy in a wheelchair and I was jealous of the experiences he was sharing with the girl I love.

I didn't forget about my plan to win her back, it was just taking a bit longer than I had originally intended. The old me would have played dirty trying to break the two of them up, and though I could have accomplished that in less than a week, I didn't want to win her back through cheating. She deserved better than that, she always has. Besides I didn't want to be some consolation prize. I wanted to be the one she wanted to be with and if she did choose me, I wanted to be worthy of her affection.

Junior prom was just around the corner and like any sane girl with a hidden agenda, I knew I needed a stunning dress to pull her gaze away from her boyfriend and towards me even if just for a moment. This time I went with a dark shade of green, halter top, full length with heels and a purse in the same color to complete the outfit. Artie of course had asked to be her date through song (gag me) and not wanting to fly completely solo, I succumbed myself into going in a group with a few of the other glee members that were dateless. I checked myself one last time in the mirror before kissing my bracelet for good luck and heading off to the school.

Anyone who paid attention would have said that the decorations were lame, the music was boring, and the punch tasted like spit. But my focus was on only one thing the entire night, one girl to be more specific. She wore a baby blue strapless dress that was tight around the waist then flowed out nicely to the floor. The color matched her eyes perfectly even though I was never close enough to see them in the gym, I knew. It looked like she had literally stepped out of a Disney fairytale.

The first time she saw me that night was nearly an hour into the dance. A moderately fast song was playing, and she was busting out some pretty intricate moves for being in heels and a dress. I was about 10 feet away on the outskirts talking to Quinn when our eyes connected. The ever swift and fluid dancer lost her balance, though just for a second, as she wobbled slightly before regaining her bearings. I couldn't help but to smirk at the fact that I broke her concentration so effortlessly. She gave me the once over before shaking her head with a smile and beckoning me to the dance floor with her pointer finger. I looked down slowly playing shy before glancing at Quinn who just shrugged. I grabbed my second favorite blonde and pulled her out there with me so it would be less suspicious.

Eventually more of the glee club came to join our dance circle until we were all in a small mob, sweaty bodies jumping and dancing not caring about anything other than having a good time. I left a good distance between her and myself, one acceptable of any normal friendship, but not once did I leave her side. That is until they played a slow song as the dance was winding down and she dutifully hopped on her boyfriend's lap as he spun them in circles. I tried to not let my emotions show, but I was pissed. Pissed at myself for pushing her away, pissed at myself for not going after her, pissed at him for giving her what she need, and pissed at her for being everything I needed but couldn't have. I barely managed to escape the gym and find the nearest bathroom before I broke down.

I grabbed the sink trying to even out my breathing and stop the tears I could feel forming. I could see my knuckles turn white from the pressure so I loosened my grip, but forced myself not to look into the mirror. I didn't want to see the train wreck I had become. I heard the door open and was ready to throw a massive bitch fit at the poor unfortunate soul that walked in, but my voice died in my throat when I saw it was her.

For some time now Artie had been not so pleased with my reformed friendship with her. I could only imagine the fact that his girlfriend left him in the middle of a song to come check on me would add to his displeasure. He knew about our past and was worried that my intentions were impure. Though I would never do anything with her while she was still with him, I did still love her and wanted her back so perhaps in that retrospect my intentions could be viewed as impure. But the ball was in her court, it was her decision to make, which left me feeling rather helpless. I was always so vulnerable when it came to her.

She stared at me as she moved closer and stopped when she was an arm's length away in front of me. When she stayed silent, doing nothing but trying to catch my gaze (which I was expertly trying to avoid), I realized she was waiting for me to talk. But what in the hell was I supposed to say to her. Why are you here? Why can't I stop thinking about you, being around you, loving you? Why don't you love me back? Did you ever love me…could you ever? Desperate for those answers yet at the same time scared for their truth, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Please come back to me." Judging by the knowing look on her face, I was more surprised by that statement than she was. Tears were starting to trickle down my cheeks as I unknowingly held my breath in anticipation for her response. She took one slow step forward while keeping our eyes locked and titling her head to the side.

"Why?"

"I love you Brittany."

I was full out crying by now, but through my tears I saw her smile. It was the first genuine smile I seen from her since we had broken up. I would swear on my grave that she saved it just for me. She closed the distance between us and gently reached her hand towards my face. I felt the cool metal of her bracelet brush against my cheek as she used her thumb to wipe away the fallen tears. Then she leaned in and placed a tender kiss on my other cheek before she enveloped me into her arms, holding me together as I fell.

"I know."

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><p><strong>End of Verse 2<strong>


	3. Something in White

**Disclaimer- **I don't own the characters just their thoughts and actions. Credit to Lorrie Morgan for "Something in Red"

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><p><em>I'm looking for something in white<br>__Something that shimmers in soft candlelight  
><em>_Everyone calls us the most perfect pair  
><em>_Should I wear a veil or a rose in my hair  
><em>_Well the train must be long and the waist must be tight  
><em>_I'm looking for something in white_

We got back together at the start of senior year and time just flew. I had all plans of following her wherever she wanted to go after graduation, but the only thing she wanted to do was dance. She asked me where I wanted to go to college, and I told her I wanted to take some time off from school, mostly so I would have time to work and pay for the living expenses we would incur. I only had one condition; we get the hell out of Lima. We ended up flipping a coin between New York City and Los Angeles because they had the most opportunities for her to dip her toes in the professional waters. New York won, and after I turned 18 that summer, we packed up and headed out.

The first few months had been rough, she got a few call backs but never managed to make it onto a crew. I was working long nights at a shitty waitressing job, only to come home to our dingy one room apartment with a leaky kitchen sink that never got fixed and find her passed out on our bed. It was stressful on the both of us, but being with her was all I ever really wanted so we managed.

We both had matured a lot not only as individuals but as girlfriends since our first stab at a relationship. It had been nearly a year and a half since we had gotten back together, and though I told her I loved her nearly every day, I still had yet to hear her confess the same. But this time was different. It didn't bother me anymore because I didn't let it. I stopped putting so much emphasis on her words (or lack thereof) and focused on her actions. She would leave notes on the bathroom mirror if she left before I woke up always signed with a drawn heart. She would come to the bar I worked at on slow nights so I wouldn't have to talk to the depressed men about their mid-life crises. She even got a part time job at a café around the corner to help pay for rent though I insisted that she focus on her auditions. It was these little instances that meant more to me than any three words could.

Of course that didn't stop me from having a near heart attack when she finally did say them aloud. I had worked late the night before, but I knew she had a big audition the next day that she was really nervous about so when I heard her shuffle out of bed and into the shower, I made my way into the kitchen. I whipped up her favorite pre-dancing meal; a strawberry protein shake and cinnamon apple flavored oatmeal. When she got out, hair still soaked and body just wrapped in a towel, it took all my self-control to not just rip that towel off and carry her back to bed. I gestured at the food, I prepared for her and she flashed me that smile before digging in hurriedly while I gathered up her dance bag. When she finished, I handed her the bag and she gave me quick peck on the lips before letting the three words slip flawlessly off her tongue. I stood frozen, eyes wide open as she tilted her head in confusion to my current state. She asked me what was wrong, to which I hurriedly shook my head and replied nothing before giving her a wide smile and wishing her luck. She gave me a seductive wink before heading out the door. Only she could take the one thing I had been waiting for over three years to hear and say it so nonchalantly as though she told me that every morning before she left. As soon as the door shut, I pumped my fist in the air and may or may not have done a little dance before going back to our room and crashing.

I liked to think that it was me wishing her good luck, or perhaps her finally confessing her love for me, that led to her getting cast as part of the dance crew that she auditioned for that day. Of course I knew it was really because my girl's got mad skills, but I liked to think that I played some small role in her success. She always said she'd never have made it without me to which I replied that she was just using me for my money, then she shot back she was going to be a star and make all the money so I'd be using her and we'd end up tickling each other until one of us gave in. Making all the money was a bit of an exaggeration, she was cast in an original musical off-Broadway, but it was a job no less and she was happy, so I was happy.

It continued like that for the next two years. She got parts in multiple small shows that would run for about four or five months before it was time to move on to the next. We weren't living large by any means, but between the two of us we were able to save up for a nicer two bedroom apartment in a less sketchy neighborhood. With her income, I could cut back my hours and take some college courses. I got an associate's degree in general business, since I had always liked to boss people around I figured maybe someday I could get into the corporate world or something.

I knew that she loved performing, but going from one show to the next with no break in between was starting to really take its toll on her. After the final curtain of her sixth show, she called it quits deciding that she wanted to teach dance instead. I was ready to comfort and support her thinking she would be upset that her time in the spotlight was over so soon, but she told me that it was time for others to shine and she wanted to show them how to do it. I couldn't argue with that.

While she was on the job hunt, I was on a hunt of my own, one that entailed taking our relationship to the next level. With her experience she easily got a job at a quality dance studio a few blocks away from our apartment. I however was having a much more difficult job finding the perfect ring. I had been saving since we first moved to New York knowing that I would want to propose to her someday in the near future. After a month of scouring every famous jewelry store, I finally found the perfect one in a nearby family owned vintage store. I wanted to get her Tiffany's even if it cost me an arm and a leg, but nothing felt right there. This ring though…it was simply Brittany, a gold band and princess cut diamond with three smaller aquamarine stones set in the band on each side. The elderly lady working behind the counter (her grandfather had founded the business back in the day) asked me if it was for someone special. She had a twinkle in her eye and I politely smiled back before telling her she had no idea. I wrote a check that day for the down payment on the ring and didn't even notice until I got back to the apartment that she knocked 200 bucks off the price. I made sure to thank her when I went to pay off the rest six months later.

That ring was stashed away in a shoe box of miscellaneous items and labeled with an inconspicuous "Santana's Stuff" before being put on the top shelf in our closet for safe keeping. I was honestly surprised that she never asked me what was in there, she always was a curious person, then again I suppose she assumed if it really mattered I would have told her. Either way, the ring stayed hidden there for eight months as we both passed by 21 (or stumbled drunkenly through might be a more accurate description). I had tried to come up with a simple romantic plan, but all my ideas seemed too lame (picnic in the park) or too over the top (Time Square proposal). I had half the mind to just pop the question on one of our Friday movie nights as we lounged on the couch in sweats stuffing our face with pizza, but that was not the least bit romantic. So I bided my time, hoping for some ingenious plan to fall from the heavens and smack me in the face. Of course that metaphorical smack came from none other than the girl I loved.

I had seen a space go up for rent next to the café I frequented. Through local gossip, I found out it was an old dance club, really popular in the 60s and 70s, but with the decline of disco it turned it to a bar and when the last inheritor passed away no one wanted the property. It didn't have chains on it yet, just a for rent sign, so I pried it open and took a look inside. It was almost completely empty and had a hollow main room, high ceiling and solid wood floor definitely made for dancing. Any remnants of a bar had been torn down and disposed of. It needed some work, obviously mirrors all around were a must, but with her credibility as a dancer and my ability to sweet talk, I knew we could easily get a loan from the bank. I wasn't crazy though, after all she was the dancing star, so I needed her opinion before I called the number on the for rent sign.

I rushed home counting down the minutes until she got off work so I could show her the place. The moment the door opened, I grabbed her hand and dragged her in the opposite direction. If she was at all confused, she didn't show it instead she intertwined our fingers and giggled as I had us both nearly sprinting the one and a half blocks to our destination. I pulled the door open for her so she could walk in first. Her eyes widened as she slowly walked into the middle of the room head swiveling as she took in her surroundings. Then she stopped abruptly. She slipped off her shoes and stood on the toe of her right foot and spun. I had never seen anyone so perfectly flawless in my life. When she was finished she put her shoes back on before skipping over to where I stood. She had a smirk on her face like she knew where I was going with this, but she asked anyways.

"Why did you bring me here?" I looked up to the ceiling for a moment to put all my thoughts to words.

"Did you want to start our own studio, you do the dancing, I do the business?" She jumped up once before grabbing my body and lifting me off the ground while twirling me. She set me down while planting a sloppy kiss on my lips.

"Is that a yes?" She kept her eyes locked on mine as she nodded her head with a shy smile. She took one last look around the place before turning her attention back to me.

"Marry me?"

It was my turn to gape at her in shock. I quickly composed myself as she stared expectantly at me waiting for an answer but instead I grabbed her hand and rushed her out of the building and back to our apartment. Breathing heavily, having done more running in the last two hours than I had in the last two weeks, I stormed through our place headed straight for the closet in our room. I grabbed the shoe box throwing the lid aside and emptied out the contents on our bed. My heart was pounding as I frantically searched for the ring but it was nowhere to be found. I felt a hand on my shoulder so I turned around, and she reached into her pocket to pull out the black box. She reached out and placed it in my hand while giving me a sheepish grin. I was so relieved it wasn't lost, I couldn't even be mad at the fact that she had known I planned on proposing for indefinite length of time. I opened the box and saw her eyes begin to melt as I took the ring and slid it onto her finger. Then I softly cupped her face and pulled her into the most passionate kiss, trying to give her everything I had through the touch of my lips to hers. She eventually pulled away blinking back the last of her tears.

"Is that a yes?" I simply smiled and nodded before throwing her on the bed and continuing our celebration.

The wedding was small and simple. We couldn't get married in a church; apparently they had slightly different views on marriage than we did, but I never wanted to have the service there anyway. We decided to save money and do it at the dance studio where she worked at the time, neither of us really cared how we got legally joined we just wanted it to be official. She did of course want to have some tradition and have her father give her away. I also had wedding dreams of my own, but they only involved me being in the perfect white dress. We went dress shopping separately, not only for superstitious reasons, but it was kinda my thing to always wait until just the right moment for her to see me. Within three weeks, we had both found dresses and booked the studio, so there was really no need to wait any longer.

Her parents flew out that weekend and I convinced Quinn to come with them (granted she surprisingly didn't take a lot of convincing and even declined my offer to pay for her flight). I didn't invite my parents, I knew they wouldn't come. She must have invited them anyway though because I saw our sent emails had one to my dad's office informing him of our impending nuptials. I wasn't surprised that they didn't show, but I was stunned when I got a check in the mail a few weeks later with a hefty sum that would come in handy in our plans for our own dance studio.

I spent the night before the wedding with Quinn in her hotel room. Quinn was helping me get ready in a spare room at the studio while my finance was preparing herself at the apartment before making her entrance in time for the service. I perfected my makeup while Quinn did my hair and we made small talk about life after high school. We may have been backstabbing bitches back then (and occasionally still were now), but we were besties for life and it was nice to have someone to share and reveal in my happiness with.

With 30 minutes until go time, I slipped on my dress. It was pure white to contrast my dark skin tone, strapless sweet heart neckline, satin with no beading and a long train, and tight waist to show off my curves. Quinn let out a soft gasp when she saw me in it and I didn't blame her, I looked pretty damn amazing. I still hadn't decided if I was going to wear a veil or a rose in my hair, so I stood in front of the mirror with each trying to envision which would be better. I asked Quinn which she thought my finance would prefer. Quinn took them both out of my hands saying neither and that she would think I looked perfect just the way I was. I couldn't stop myself from pulling her in and hugging one of my oldest friends before we made our way into the main room to wait for my bride to be.

There were no flowers or musicians or even seats for our three guests, but none of that mattered the moment she walked through the door. I had tunnel vision, and for the rest of the service she was the only thing I could see. Her hair was half up, the rest of it lying softly behind her shoulders with a slight curl on the ends. Her dress was also strapless, but a simple cream color with no train and a large slit in the side. I was far too busy ogling her to see what her reaction was to my dress, but when her dad finally handed her over to me, she gave me a confident smile and a wink so I knew she approved. She grabbed my hand immediately interlocking our fingers, our bracelets barely grazing each other's.

The rest of the service went by in a blur though it didn't last for more than 15 minutes. I couldn't believe how lucky I was that I was going to be able to spend the rest of my life with her, the girl who was my best friend then eventually lover. I focused on the feel of her fingers that squeezed mine every so often and the constant brush of her thumb against the back of my hand. Finally the marriage official said I could kiss my bride, so I tugged her over by the small of her back before placing a delicately sweet kiss on her lips, the first of many we would share as a married couple. I felt like that giddy 14 year old girl who just got her first kiss and when I opened my eyes to see her liquid blue ones staring back at me with hope and desire, I knew our lives would only get better…that and I wanted to get her home as quickly as possible to shred her of that dress and ravish her all night.

"I love you Brittany," I said as I took a step back without breaking eye contact. She beamed back at me as I used my thumb to wipe away a stray tear that fell from her eye. Her parents and Quinn were making their way over to where we stood to congratulate us, but before our moment got interrupted she kissed me on the cheek before whispering in my ear.

"I know."

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><p><strong>End of Verse 3<strong>


	4. Something in Blue

**A/N-** Sorry this took so long to update. Blame the holiday break. Also this was the hardest chapter to write yet as I couldn't personally relate. Either way, hope you enjoy. The next chapter (and last one) will be up in a couple days.

**Disclaimer- **I don't own the characters just their thoughts and actions. Credit to Lorrie Morgan for "Something in Red"

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><p><em>I'm looking for something in blue<br>__Something real tiny the baby's brand new  
><em>_He has his mother's nose and her chin  
><em>_We once were hot lovers now we're more like friends  
><em>_Don't tell me that's just what old married folk do  
><em>_I'm looking for something in blue_

I got the call on a warm spring day, mid-April, while I was in the middle of giving a presentation to a private middle school that specialized in the arts. For the past few years, I had occasionally gone out to recruit students for our studio though with our reputation it wasn't really necessary. Not one to be rude during my own presentation, I ignored the call only to get a text message seconds later: In labor- come now. I felt like fainting, she wasn't due for another three weeks, but passing out in a school nearly an hour away would definitely not help my wife. I politely excused myself stating a family emergency and let one of the dance instructors I brought with me take over as I bolted out of the school to hail a cab. I yelled at the driver to take me to New York Presbyterian and that I would pay extra if he got me there in 45 minutes.

I tried multiple times to reach her, but my calls went straight to voicemail. Then I called our office in which our receptionist told me she had been taken to the hospital by Mike (he started working with us a couple years ago once he found out we started our own business). This led me to call Mike in complete hysterics on how I wasn't ready and she wasn't ready and Lord we didn't even have the baby's room all set up and what if I didn't get there in time. He calmed me down saying her contractions were still far apart and that we'd figure out the rest as we go.

I still can't believe she talked me into letting her have our first child. I tried to reason with her that it would be more sensible for me to do it because my job required way less physical exertion than hers. It's not that I didn't want her to have our baby, but I remember how crazy Quinn got when she was pregnant and the horror stories about the pain of child labor. There was no way in hell I wanted my wife to have to suffer through that. But she was adamant, and well I've never been able to say no to her, so eight months later I was freaking out in the back of a cab trying to get to my wife as fast as possible.

Mike and I corresponded via texts my whole cab ride then I threw all the cash in my purse at the driver as I got out before the car even stopped fully in front of the hospital. The only time I had been into the place was when I broke my wrist two years ago- fell off the bed in the middle of some hot rough…um yeah, that event will never be discussed again- and I just was in the ER, so I had absolutely no clue as to where the maternity ward was. Yelling at each nurse I rushed by, I eventually was pointed in the right direction and found Mike in the waiting room. He gave me a hug to calm my nerves (no luck with that) then guided me into her room.

She smiled at me as soon as I stepped through the door, and I immediately went to stand by her head. I brushed her hair back out of her face, she was only slightly sweaty but to me it looked more like she was glistening with beauty. I bent down and kissed her lightly on the forehead before whispering in her ear let's do this. She nodded before grabbing my hand for courage and support, our bracelets clinging together every time she winced in pain.

I can't remember there ever being a time between the two of us that involved so much profanity. It seemed like every other word that came out of her mouth was a curse; some of them directed at the doctor, some at the nurses, some to the room in general, but thankfully none were specifically for me. Of course her vice grip on my hand caused me to lose feeling in my fingers, and I muttered swear words to try to ease both of our pains and keep myself from having a panic attack. Needless to say, there was some yelling (mostly her) and crying (mostly me), but after eighteen of the most stressful hours of my life, we were blessed with an adorable baby boy.

I won't get into the gory details about the after birth events because I barely managed to get through them the first time without vomiting or passing out. That night, after she had fallen asleep, I went to the nursery to look at our child. I had gotten to hold him for a while (after he had been cleaned thank God), but that just wasn't enough. Looking through the window, I saw the name tag I was searching for: Anthony Lopez-Pierce. He was by far the cutest baby there, though I suppose I was a bit biased seeing as he looked just like his mother, my wife and lover. I simply could not take my eyes off him, his little chest rising up and down with every breath that gave him life, his miniature fingers balled in a soft fist. The first thing I noticed about him when I held him earlier that morning was he had dark brown eyes like me (though technically they were from the donor), but now that I was able to look closer there was so much about him that reminded me of my wife. He had her nose and delicate chin, pale skin though I believe most babies' are born that way, and when he slept he had this peaceful look on his face that resonated throughout his features which was basically, in essence, his other mother.

I couldn't help the smile that played on my lips as I watched my first born sleep for the next hour. When one of the nurses working in the nursery came out to make sure I was doing alright, I assured her I was fine and decided it was time to stop stalking my child…I would have plenty of time to do that when he got older. I walked back to the room my wife was sleeping in to check on her, and she was still out cold from all the energy she exerted. I kissed her forehead before writing a quick note letting her know where I was going and that I'd be back within the hour in case she woke up though I highly doubted that would happen. With one last glance at her placid figure, I exited the room and hurried out of the hospital.

I was so jazzed on the events of the previous twenty-four hours that I knew sleep wasn't an option. With the baby being born early, we weren't exactly completely prepared for him just yet. My brain was going a mile a minute on all of the issues that would need to be resolved before we took him home, as I paced frantically outside the hospital entrance. Taking a deep somewhat calming breath, I decided to tackle the problems one at a time starting with the first and most important one: the outfit he would wear home. Yeah that might be a bit superficial, but at that moment it was about all my brain could process to do correctly and it would keep my body busy so it seemed like an excellent idea.

It wasn't too early in the morning, many stores were beginning to open up, and I knew of a great little shop only about five blocks down the road that would have just what I was looking for. When I reached my destination, I entered with one goal in mind: find the perfect onesie for our baby boy. I searched the toddler section looking for something in blue (I would've picked a less gender specific color, but my wife loved blue and he would look precious in it). It needed to be really tiny, but with some spunk since he was my kid after all, can't have him looking like a wuss. Finally I found a onesie that screamed Lopez-Pierce, so I slapped my credit card on the counter and headed back to my new family.

When I got back to her room, she was stirring in her sleep so I brushed her hair out of her face before placing a soft kiss on her lips. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she smiled when she recognized it was me who woke her from her slumber. She scooted over in the bed and patted the empty space signaling she wanted me to join her. I quickly shook my head no, but reassured her with a kiss on her hairline before I grabbed the bag to show her what I bought. She looked at me with a scrunched forehead, but once she saw the outfit her confusion was replaced with a smile and then laughter. Written on the blue onesie was the saying 'I dance to the music in my heart' with a dancing stick figure in the middle. She grabbed my waist and pulled me on the bed with surprising strength for a woman who just gave birth. After a long affectionate kiss, she drew back and I snuggled into her side.

"It's perfect," she whispered quietly into my ear as she stroke my hair.

"He's perfect." I cuddled closer to her, getting as close as possible while being careful of her whole lower half that was probably still extremely uncomfortable.

"You did amazing tonight," I said as I traced patterns with my fingers absentmindedly down her arm before linking our fingers together. She turned to face me, smiling in thanks, and then kissed the top of my head.

"We both did." Once I was in her arms, my mind was able to slow down and all the ecstatic energy from earlier faded away. This would be a new adventure, but I was positive that together we could survive anything. That day I had the best sleep I would get for the next few months. If only I knew, I probably would have made her stay in the hospital a few days longer.

Having a child around had its ups and downs, every parent knows that. Our nights that were once filled with passion were now filled with restless sleep. Tender kisses had been replaced by quick pecks. It's not that the love wasn't there; it had just changed its center of focus from each other to our child. There was nothing I loved more than coming home to see my wife holding our child in her arms as she glided around the living room in a flawless Viennese waltz. Then again, there was nothing I hated more than being woken up at two in the morning to the wailing screams of said child while I sleepily tried to figure out what he wanted.

Gone were the days of lustful lovemaking. Of course our relationship wasn't solely based on physical affection, but when I'm married to the hottest blonde alive it's one of my easiest and most favorite method of showing my love for her. We had learned to coexist with one another and it sent me back to high school, before I was honest with myself, and we were just best friends. It's how we started out and it seemed that now that someone else had our undivided attention, we simply fell back into that comfort zone.

I got home late one night from the studio about five months after the baby was born, I had been working on our end of the month financial statements (boring I know but it always makes me happy when I see we're making a profit). On the counter was a note saying there was leftover chicken alfredo in the fridge so I heated that up and devoured it within minutes. I stopped by the baby's room, and he was sleeping soundlessly so I kissed him on the forehead before continuing on to our room. She was already snoring softly lying on her stomach with her whole body splayed across the bed. The moonlight shined through the window casting shadows in the room, but lighting the small smile on her lips as she slept. I don't think I have ever seen anyone as beautifully adorable as she was in that moment. I wanted to just stand at the foot of the bed and watch her all night, but I was exhausted and Lord knows the baby would probably wake up and start crying any second so I needed to get some sleep while I could. I carefully got under the covers trying not to wake her and as soon as the bed dipped she lifted her arm to roll me into her. I closed my eyes as her rhythmic breathing ghosted softly on my shoulder putting me to sleep in an instant.

It seemed like the second I closed my eyes, they were being forced back open as sobbing could be heard from the baby's room. It was my turn to check on him- she had done it the past three nights as I pouted, bargained, and feigned sleep- so I rolled over and tried to wipe what little sleep I had gotten from my eyes as I sat up. I felt a hand on my back and I looked over my shoulder to see her getting out of bed and telling me to go back to sleep, she'd handle it. Relief washed over me as I mumbled my incoherent thanks and I flopped back onto the bed. After about half an hour the crying stopped, but I had still yet to fall back asleep. Even in my exhausted stated it was nearly impossible for me to sleep without being near her, touching her, being in each other's' arms. Grumbling to myself, I slipped out of bed and walked down the hall to my family.

I stopped in the doorway as the sight of the two of them caught my breath. There was nothing unusual about the situation; she was sitting in the rocking chair slowly rocking back and forth as she cradled him in her arms. His eyes kept shutting and I knew he was only minutes away from sleep. She sang softly and when I recognized the lyrics from Songbird, I immediately felt the tears start to well up in my eyes. It was moments like this one that made everything we had been through, good and bad, all worth it. When she finished the song, I finally entered the room and she looked up at me as I approached her.

"I told you to go back to sleep," she whispered so she wouldn't wake our child. She was almost chastising me, but the knowing smile on her face said otherwise.

"You know I can't sleep without you, besides it was my turn to quiet the beast," I replied before leaning down and planting a kiss on his forehead for the second time that night. She rolled her eyes in response to my comment before getting out of the chair.

"Fine, you can put him down," she said faking distress as if it were such a burden to let me place the child back in his crib. I reached my hands out to take him as she held him out and our bracelets chimed as they hit making the echo ring through an otherwise silent room. We both smiled guilty as we looked at our boy, but he was still fast asleep unaware of anything outside of his own dreams.

I gently laid him back in his crib and rested my hands on the bar as I stood over him watching his even breathing. I felt arms encircle my waist and her chin landed lightly on my shoulder. For the longest time, she was the only person I ever loved. Now that I had someone else to give affection to (and also share her affection with), I had overcompensated…we both had. It wasn't about if I loved one of them more than the other, it was about showing them I loved them both, no matter what, in an equal amount. She nudged my shoulder as if to let me know she wanted to go to bed. Looking down at our son, I let my quiet voice fill the silent room.

"I love you Brittany."

She tightened her grip on my waist and placed a kiss on my neck. Years ago that would have sent us both in a frenzy of hormones and desire, but now it was a sentiment of security and comfort.

"I know."

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><p><strong>End of Verse 4<strong>


	5. Gotta Have Something in Red

**A/N-** Longer chapter than I intended thus took longer to write. Final chapter so I hope you enjoy and as always thanks for reading!

**Disclaimer- **I don't own the characters just their thoughts and actions. Credit to Lorrie Morgan for "Something in Red"

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><p><em>I'm looking for something in red<br>__Like the one that I wore when I first turned her head  
><em>_Strapless and sequined and cut down to there  
><em>_Just a size larger than I wore last year  
><em>_The guaranteed number to knock a girl dead  
><em>_I'm looking for something  
><em>_I've gotta have something  
><em>_I'm looking for something in red_

We slipped into the roles of parenthood as easily as we fell in love; thus there was some tripping and stumbling but eventually we were able to put one foot in front of the other on the right path. We both agreed that I would give birth to our second child, and when our boy was three years old, we welcomed his sister, Julia, into our family. We used the same donor as Anthony this way they would be biologically related, which made our little girl look like a miniature version of me. I was totally creeped out at first, but my wife absolutely adored her and it didn't take too long for me to get over the shocking resemblance between our daughter and my baby pictures.

Running our own company and focusing on our budding family was exhausting to say the least. A year after our baby girl was born; we had saved up enough money to rent the two floors directly above the studio and renovated it into a loft. It had been getting quite cramped in our two bedroom apartment with the four of us, and living right above the studio was extremely beneficial for getting to and from work in the morning. We weren't super rich, but we had a loyal customer base, good reputation, and excellent instructors (including my wife and Mike of course) so all in all the business part of our life was going well.

As for the family aspect, we were in my opinion fairly normal. Anniversaries, birthdays, holidays all came and went with nothing too spectacular or out of the ordinary done. As long as our family was together, my wife and I were happy, and I was quite content with happiness. Once our kids were old enough, we would hire a babysitter and go out on dates every Friday night. We would take turns picking the restaurant; everything from exquisite Italian dinning to packed Mexican buffets to confusing Chinese cuisine. Soon we were crossing establishments off our lists of acceptable eateries (based mostly on her preferences, I would eat anything as long as I was with her), until only a few of our favorites remained.

Even at that, it became habit that most Friday nights the two of us would end up at O'Sheas- a sports bar just down the street eating burgers and fries as we discussed work and our kids. Deciding on a more high class place seemed to take more effort than either of us were willing to expend after a long week of teaching, dealing with customers, cleaning up after the kids, helping them with homework, the list goes on. So after a while every Friday night we would drag ourselves to the bar and exchange pleasantries with Hank- the 54 year old owner who always worked the front door- before buying beers and burgers. We never had much to talk about other than what was coming up during the next week- 'Anthony has drum lessons at 6 on Tuesday' 'Don't forget our meetings for a new hip-hop instructor'- and even though some nights we would just sit in silence enjoying one another's company, it was an established routine that neither one of us wanted to break. Being away from the kids for a few hours was just a plus.

One night probably 10 or so years into our marriage, well let's see Julia was about six at the time which made Anthony nine… who was born around two years after we got married so 11! Anyway, after a full eleven years into our marriage (that makes me feel old), I found myself sitting across from my wife at a table in O'Sheas munching mindlessly on some of the fries she hadn't eaten. She was talking endlessly about the upcoming recital explaining how it would be so much better than last year's due to new talent they brought in and much better prepared choreography for all the classes. I smiled and nodded as she enthusiastically gushed about the performance she was most looking forward to- beginner's ballet class doing Waltz of the Flowers from the Nutcracker just like they did every year. Usually I would be a bit more attentive, it's not like I wasn't excited about the recital, I just had something completely different on my mind that night.

As we were walking to the bar, I noticed a billboard for a new Broadway hit staring the two time Tony Award winner Rachel Freaking Berry. She stared down at me with that flashy 'I'm so much better than you grin' and don't even get me started on the nose. That beak was big in person but being blown up to 50 times its original size, I thought it was gonna jump off that damn billboard and attack me. When my wife noticed my slowed pace, she followed my gaze to see what I was looking at. She let out a short squeal before commenting on how hot Rachel looked (gross) and then pulled me along to our destination. I made a mental note to look up if the hobbit had actually gotten one of the Tony's before she was 25 like she said she would (not that I cared or anything).

Of course seeing the picture of the dwarf reminded me of glee club and all the losers we mingled with in high school, though I guess by senior year they weren't that bad. Besides Quinn who visited about once a year and Mike who worked with us, I hadn't seen any of the New Direction members since the summer after graduation. So as my wife chatted to me, I was completely zoned out reminiscing about when we were younger and infatuated entirely with each other. The only thing I ever had to worry about back then was whether or not she loved me as much as I loved her. I missed the blissful ignorance I had as a teenager, I knew I could cut anyone who had a problem with my love for a girl so expressing my feelings for her in public back then was never an issue. Nowadays I hardly ever had the time to express my love for her, and let's face it with a sexy wife like mine a simple peck on the lips just doesn't cut it for either of us.

I had long since finished eating the rest of her fries and we made our way back to the loft in companionable silence. If she noticed my more than usual quite demeanor, she didn't bring it to attention- being together for so long she could probably read my mind by now- because she knew I'd talk to her about whatever it was I was thinking about once I had it all sorted in my brain. When we got back, she paid the sitter while I checked on the kids who were both safely snoozing in their rooms.

I meandered into our room to find her in the process of putting on something more comfortable to wear to bed. She had her back to me in nothing but her bra and panties as she looked through the drawer for a shirt to put on. Through the mirror on top of the dresser, I saw her face in pure concentration like her sleepwear choice was of the upmost importance. I leaned against the doorway smiling as I allowed myself to just look at my wife. And for the first time in over nine years did I actually see her. The luscious blonde hair that fell softly on her back stopping just above her bra strap, the dainty bumps of her spine that traveled down the middle of her back, the two indents in her lower back to either side of her spine just above her panties. As my eyes traveled further down to her glorious ass and legs, impure thoughts raced through my brain and the recent memories of high school had me suddenly flashing back on the first time we slept together. Our technique had certainly improved since then, but nothing could compare to the first time when I realized she wanted me the same way I wanted her- as more than just friends.

As I openly stared at her, she finally decided on a top- an old WMHS Cheerios shirt (maybe she really could read my mind)- which I'm pretty sure was mine because it barely made it past her belly button, not that I was complaining. When she looked up in the mirror she caught me staring at her. She smiled shyly before turning around.

"What?" She questioned gently, slightly confused at my unnatural behavior. I was about to brush it off and tell her that she was beautiful and we would fall asleep in each other's arms like we always did. But when she bit her bottom lip and I gazed into those liquid blue eyes, I knew she deserved more than that. She deserved everything, so the least I could give her was the truth.

"I can't my eyes off you even if I tried." I took a few steps closer to her continuing on, "You are the only person who always takes my breath away without even trying." I ended up right in front of her, our breaths mingling with one another's as she held my gaze for a split second before I crashed my lips into hers pulling her body into mine making us one again. The spark was ignited and the passion burned a fire in both of us as we tumbled on the bed, hands and lips everywhere as I tried to take her breath and claim it as my own. Once we were both sufficiently lacking oxygen, we pulled away panting for air while staying close as our foreheads rested together.

She chuckled, apparently humored by my impromptu physical attacking of her body and pulled me into her so my head was resting on her collarbone. She stroked my hair as I drew patterns on her stomach, each of us trying to control our breathing as we were both too tired from the past week for it to escalate into anything further. She nudged my face up and kissed me again languidly, drawing out the feeling of being connected to one another. She placed a final kiss on my lips, then my nose, the forehead, and finally on my hairline as I settled down into her, molding our bodies together.

"You're pretty damn awesome yourself. I'll keep stealing your breath, if you keep stealing mine." I smiled to myself against her neck as her breath slowly evened out until she had fallen asleep. I laid awake formulating a plan, one that would rival the likes of my first plan involving her from so many years ago.

I have never been a patient person so having to wait a whole week before I could finally put my plan into action was just about killing me. It wasn't much of an elaborate plan, nothing more than a night of just the two of us together- no kids, no work, no unnecessary life interruptions. Using my slick talking, I convinced the mom of friends of our kids- she had three kids around the same age as ours that went to the same school- to have our kids over to her house for a sleepover on Saturday. I knew that five fairly young children under one roof would get crazy, so in return I offered that we would do the same next month so she could go out with her husband on their anniversary. She took the bait, hook line and sinker, which left my Saturday night completely free to recreate the perfect evening.

While my wife was in the studio for her Tuesday night swing class, I went scourging through our home office closet where I was positive we kept boxes of memorabilia from high school. I found five boxes: three labeled WMHS, one labeled B, and one labeled S. The WMHS ones were on top so I searched through those first even though I knew ultimately that what I was looking for was in the S box. I found old yearbooks that I flipped through casually, smiling at pictures of us in the choir room with interlocking pinkies. There were cheerleading trophies, way too many to count, and our 12th place trophy from Nationals junior year (she thought it might grow if we looked after it so I stole it from the trophy case on graduation day). Our Cheerios uniforms were there too and I was almost tempted to try it on to see if it still fit, but decided to not get distracted and save that for another day. There were shoe boxes filled with notes and pictures, each bringing me back to a particular memory. Before I got caught up in my recollections, I moved on to my initial destination and grabbed the box with an S on it.

The box was dusty, having not been opened in nine years, so I brushed it off with the side of my hand before slowly lifting off the lid. On top, lying neatly flat because it was too small to fold, was a blue onesie with a dancing stick figure. I picked it up, almost being able smell our baby boy in his first outfit, and placed it gently next to me on the floor. Next was a large see-through garment bag folded in half that housed a pure white strapless dress with a long train. I could practically see my wife standing next to me with tears in her eyes as we devoted ourselves to each other. Placing it carefully on top of the onesie, I continue on to find a dark green halter top. I pulled it out envisioning her running into the bathroom after me during junior prom to make sure I was okay. Setting it down on top of the pile, I finally was able to see the last item in my box, the one I had been looking for. I ghosted my fingers over a red strapless dress with sequences at the top. I remembered walking across the parking lot the first time I turned her head, and I hoped this dress would do just that once again.

I removed the dress from the box and cautiously put the other clothing articles back in before quickly stuffing all the boxes into the closet and heading into our room with my rediscovered outfit. I held it in front of myself in the full length mirror, visualizing myself back then as compared to now. I kept in fairly good shape, not as lean and muscular as my wife, but all those years of cheerleading made it easier for me to keep a healthy sized body. However after childbirth, my boobs did get a bit bigger, so I was thoroughly surprised when I was able to slip into the dress and get the zipper almost all the way up. It would just need to be let out a little bit in the chest area, so the next day I went to the tailor's and she said she'd have it ready by Friday- her daughter was a student at the studio so she put it on top priority.

Friday night, we went to O'Sheas (didn't want her to get suspicious). This time I actually participated in our conversation- whether or not Julia should move up to intermediate tap- but that didn't stop me from going over my mental checklist for the next evening. Restaurant reservations, check. New bed sheets, check. Cheesy yet charming mix cd we can dance to, check. Remember to get flowers before date, check. Incredibly sexy dress that could knock my lady dead, check. When I asked her what she planned to do on Saturday she said she wanted to relax most the day, maybe go to the park in the afternoon. I agreed to her idea, it would work well with mine- this way I could let the kids know they were going to a sleepover once we got back and my favorite three people would all be happily surprised.

After a morning of lounging around, we all set off to the nearest park that had a playground for the kids to play on. There wasn't much scenery, but my wife and I were perfectly happy to just sit on a bench, her arm resting on my shoulder, watching our children run around without a care in the world. It was just another moment where I realized that somewhere along the way we must have done at least a few things right. Once they were spent, we all went home and the kids took a nap having exhausted all their energy. My wife laid on the couch watching TV while occasionally nodding off, so I went to pack some clothes and toiletries for the kids' sleepover.

Once I had them all set to go, it was almost dinner time so I whipped up some mac n cheese for the kids before waking up the army. I woke our children first and told them to be really quiet so they wouldn't disturb their mommy. She had basically passed out on the couch and there was a little spot of drool next to her mouth. Both kids giggled at her, and we each took turns making faces next to her as we took pictures on my phone's camera. After they finished eating, I told them to go down to the studio and that I had a surprise for them. I left my wife a note telling her I'd be right back in case she woke when I was gone. Thankfully I had enough tact to tell the kids what their surprise was after we got outside, but even at that I wouldn't be shocked if their shrieks of joy were loud enough to wake my wife.

When I returned, she had moved from the couch and was now searching the kitchen for something to eat for dinner. I came up behind her and pulled her away from the fridge before instructing her to go jump in the shower. She pouted and said she was hungry, but I told her I had plans for our dinner which seemed to placate her. As she walked down the hall to the bathroom, I told her she better hurry up cuz I was hungry to. She skipped the rest of the way to her destination and as soon as I heard the door shut, I pounced into action. I quickly slipped into my dress and threw all my make-up essentials into my purse knowing I could beautify myself at the restaurant while I waited for her to get ready. I grabbed the flowers that she thankfully hadn't noticed I had brought back after dropping off the kids, and placed them on the dining room table along with a note that told her where and when to meet me. I also stated that I would be fine if she wore absolutely nothing, but since it was a suit and tie type of place she should dress up. I pulled one flower out of the bouquet, left some money for her cab fare, and hastily left the loft just as I heard the shower turn off. I sincerely hoped she wouldn't be mad at me for sort of ditching her, but I figured I would make up for any hurt feelings later.

I got to the restaurant thirty minutes before our reservation so I had plenty of time to do my hair and make-up in the bathroom. Knowing my wife would be punctual, I waited until five minutes after our set time to make my entrance. It was selfish of me to set up this whole ordeal then make her wait for me, but I needed to see if I could still steal her attention and have it be completely all on me.

As I reached the host, I gave him my name and he told me my party had already arrived reassuring my previous thoughts. He led me part of the way then gestured to a table where a graceful blonde sat patiently waiting. I thanked him and made my way towards my wife while she took in her surroundings. She began to look around the place eyes possibly hoping to spot me and her head began to turn in my direction. However, this time when I was in her line of vision, her head didn't keep going and she immediately caught and held my gaze. As I continued towards our table, she gave me the once over before smirking and licking her lips. I finally made it to her and she stood up to greet me with a short peck on my cheek. I drew my hand from behind my back revealing the lone flower I brought with me, which I then tucked safely behind her ear, hiding the stem in her long hair that she left down and slightly curled just the way I liked it.

Looking back, I honestly can't remember much of what we talked about at dinner or later that night when we returned to our loft after walking 17 blocks back with our pinkies locked. Like it had always been between us we could discuss the most random things (why can't penguins fly) or the most serious things (should we start saving for retirement), but as long as we were together the topic never really mattered. I lost track of the number of times we made love that night, but the count wasn't the important part. It was the fact that we were expressing our love for one another; it wasn't practice or sex, it was the physical embodiment of true love that we shared.

Once we were both spent, I rolled onto my back while she lazily placed sloppy kisses on my collar bone and neck. She made her way up to my mouth are slowly molded our lips together. She pulled back and hovered above my head to look into my eyes.

"This isn't some special occasion that I forgot about, is it?" She asked softly as if she were scared of being reprimanded. I tried to look offended by her question.

"It is," I stated trying to keep a straight face as her eyes widen and I could practically see her mind working to formulate what day it was and why it was important. Knowing she wouldn't come up with something since there wasn't really any past occasion linked with that day, I went on, "Every day is special when I get to spend it with you." She rolled her eyes at my cheesiness and I laughed in response as she relaxed back and cuddled into my side. We laid there silently for some time just soaking up the feeling of being together in our own bubble with nothing else standing in our way. The feel of her chest shaking against mine as she chuckled brought me out of my mind and I looked over to where her head was resting on my arm.

"I can't believe you still have that dress. I thought I tore that the first time I ripped it off you." We both smiled reminiscing in the memory before I answered her.

"Nah…besides some things just get better over time."

And for us it really did. Sometimes it took an old dress and a real date night to remember how crazy in love we were and always have been. But that didn't mean we loved each other any less on those Friday night's we spent at O'Sheas, or on family game nights, or when Anthony formed a band that practiced in the studio breaking our eardrums, or when Julia got her first boyfriend and I swore I'd hunt him down if he ever hurt her. At that moment, I was confident that with our track record things would just continue to get better.

She put one arm under her head to get a better look at me, narrowing her eyes as she took in my features. Smiling adoringly, she laid back down so her mouth was next to my ear and I could feel her breath fall lightly against my lobe.

"I love you Santana."

I didn't need to hear it, but that didn't mean I wasn't pleased when those words escape her lips. The first time I had been shocked, my prolonged fears finally put to rest. By now I had become used to it, a greeting and goodbye that said so little but meant so much. This time was different. It was a promise, just like that one I'd given to her the first time I said it so many years ago, that she would be there always by my side just like I knew she would.

I reached down and grabbed her hand that was lying on my stomach, our bracelets chiming together as they were the only accessory that never came off our bodies. I interlocked our fingers and brought my lips to hers in a chaste kiss.

"I know."

* * *

><p><strong>End Scene.<strong>


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